Vanilla Twilight
by TheGreySpecies
Summary: The Snitch had led her to the cause of her dreary thoughts, of her melancholic nights, of her blazing floods, and of her worst fears, the ones that she had refused to acknowledge, because he was coming back, she knows he will. H/G Oneshot.


**Vanilla Twilight: Oneshot**

**Disclaimer: **If I were to look into the Mirror of Erised, I would see myself . . . at Hogwarts . . . with blonde hair . . . and about 40 years old, so figure it out. Oh, and I don't own the lyrics either, 'cause I'm not an awesome bloke living in Minnesota with an amazing voice. :D

Warning: I almost made myself cry, and I don't cry easily.

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><p>It's amazing, really, how the world treads onward, jogging, running, sprinting on, yet its residence linger onto their regrets, their flaws, their past. Dense, humans call themselves, they vilify their every weakness, for recalling the past was an abstruse subject for them, and they urge themselves to ignore it, but once again, humans are dense, for they fail to acknowledge that the primary purpose of recalling one's past mistakes was to learn from them.<p>

A snitch, however, was one of the exceptional objects that could recall past memories, but unlike humans, it lacks a brain that learns from its mistakes. Should humans lend their brains to the ingenious Snitch? After all, humans reckon that they have no use for it; it elicits nothing but pain, they say.

At least one human, in particular, thought so anyway. A female, in fact, a red-haired female.

The said red-haired female was perched on a chair in her balcony, peering down to the mystical meadows below. It was such a fine late afternoon, most people – herself, in particular – would characteristically be outdoors, for people such as herself could not be relied upon to remain indoors.

But alas, everyone has their sudden bouts of dismay, though dismay was hardly the efficient diction to describe her intense melancholy.

The melancholic girl was twirling a small fluttering ball absentmindedly in her hand; although, she was gripping it rather hard, but it was impossible to tell whether she was doing this because of her frustration or because the Snitch was flapping its wings so hard for an escape from the wrath of the fiery-headed girl.

Such dreaded symbolism lies in the wretched Snitch as it struggled to break free from its chains, but the girl refused to set it free; it contained her hope, her motivation to keep breathing, for if it wrenched its connection from her . . .

But what struck the girl dumbfounded was its unusual behavior; it had never been as adamant for freedom as it was now, but the girl was frightened to release it. She hated vulnerability, and the Snitch was the only thing that would help prevent it.

Suddenly though, the wind demanded its freedom; it blew with such rush that the freckled-faced girl felt as if someone had rushed passed her with a broomstick, and the Snitch was released to join its partners in the skies.

The girl gasped horrifyingly; she couldn't let it go; she had to get it back. It was her only hope.

And so, she hastily rushed back into her small flat, rummaged through her closet, quickly grabbed her broomstick, and entered the skies for the first time in what seemed like forever, and for a moment her mind drifted along with the wind until she redirected her attention back to the situation at hand.

'_Those were all stolen moments anyway, recalling them would serve no purpose,' _she thought vehemently.

Unbeknownst to the girl, another human had joined her flight towards the Snitch; this time it was a male, but the girl had her attention fixed upon the object of her desires.

The young man lined his own broom beside hers, watching the girl's frantic search for the Snitch, and he felt slightly guilty for doing this to her, but he couldn't help it; he had to let her know.

He shook his head amusedly as a familiar memory crawled back into his mind; ah, those stolen moments, they used to bring back such joy, but the young man felt nothing but nostalgia while thinking about them now; it saddened him greatly. What had gone wrong?

As the guilt continued to consume the young man, he gave in and slowed down, yielding slightly behind her, and as he did, the girl let out a mild cheer, for the Snitch had sprang into view.

The young man chuckled at the girl's countenance; did she really think he was going to let her have it that easily?

Still oblivious to the young man flying beside her, the girl stretched out her hand in an attempt to grasp the Snitch, but just as her fingertips touched it, the young man did an incredible loop on his broomstick, sending the Snitch flying out of her tentacles.

The girl let out a fierce growl in frustration causing him to grin mischievously. Satisfied with her reaction, the young man purposefully dove straight towards the ground while laughing wholeheartedly. The Snitch hovered in front of him like two opposite polar of a magnet; the young man knew that the girl was bound to follow him; she was the one who wanted her treasure after all, but she had to work for it.

And follow she did. She raced the Snitch needle straight towards the ground, yet the Snitch halted on ground level, stubbornly refusing to budge, as if urging her to depart her broomstick; she grew curious at its peculiar behavior; Snitches did not usually do this, did they?

The young man, however, had already landed; he stood behind her, merely observing, waiting patiently for her to scan her surroundings; he had brought her here for a reason.

Confused, the girl's exquisite eyes swiveled from the Snitch to her surroundings, and she felt as if a knife had pierced her naiveté, forcing her to accept the obvious truth. The Snitch had led her to the cause of her dreary thoughts, of her melancholic nights, of her blazing floods, and of her worst fears, the ones that she had refused to acknowledge, because he was coming back, she knows he will.

Piercing through her thoughts was another rush of familiar wind, albeit softer this time, for the young man had passed beside her towards a sea of tombs, vigilantly scanning them for the particular one that the Snitch was hovering beside. He did not turn his head to check if the girl was following him; he knows she will.

Indeed, the girl felt the desperate urge to follow the wind's signal; somehow, it was acting like a compass that wasn't pointing north but instead at her longings, and she followed obediently. Now her feet were unconsciously leading her towards something that she knew she would dread, but also something that she had always intended to avoid.

And indeed, the girl reached her worst fear, the one that she never had the will to meet; funny how easily Snitches could tread here, fully capable of outsmarting a living human; they both had memories, so why did one find it more difficult than the other?

And as she treaded closer to her fear, she found it harder to breathe, for she could finally decipher the prints upon a particular tomb.

The girl bowed her head towards the grave, refusing to look at it; she bit her lip in an attempt to keep her ominous emotions at bay; she was fighting a fierce internal battle as the young man likewise stood opposite of her, behind the grave, merely watching, observing, nothing more and nothing less. She must conquer her fears, or else she was fired from the job; it was all up to her now.

The girl stood, quarreling with herself; she wanted to be strong, yet . . . she felt weak. Was she weak, though? Why did the Snitch, nothing but a worthless object, have the audacity to confront her fears, yet she, herself, could not?

She felt her frustration grow; she would not let it win, and the young man smiled. It worked.

For the first time, the girl focused her eyes on the tomb that had ripped her life into pieces; he was down there, wasn't he? Was he nothing but ashes now? Was she too late?

As the girl dealt with her fears, the young man retreated a few steps back to allow her some autonomy; he'll respect her space, then he'll tell her.

His eyes caught sight of the familiar Snitch, mockingly fluttering beside him; how loyal it was to him, how faithful that it had brought the person he had most yearned for on this wretched soil. He hated its effortless boldness, its illusory limit, and its eternal immortality; he would gladly exchange his heart to it if it allowed him just one more chance of redeeming his mistakes, of showing her that he was here, but alas, one had to follow the rules of life: that there was only one chance.

Naturally, the hands of a Seeker caught the Snitch without excessive effort; oh, how he would tease her during those moments of victory, such joy it used to bring him, but now, they were bittersweet. They brought only nostalgia, but that longing, the incessant longing was ever present, and he both despised it and cherished it.

But now they were tied, one had yet to emerge victorious. The young man smiled contritely ashe held the Snitch out in front of him; he would wait, and he knows that she would too.

Casting a hasty glance at her, the young man then closed his eyes, sighed, and brought the Snitch to his lips, whispering softly into it.

Then, reluctantly, he spread out his hand and let it fly off to deliver its message.

Placing his hands inside of the pockets of his robes, he watched it fly away. Funny how the person it was delivering to was standing directly in front of him, but it knew its way; who was he to criticize it?

Sensing something strange, the girl attempted to distract herself from spilling her concealed tears; she did not let them fall before; she won't do it now.

Her senses were right, though; peering up through bleary eyes, the girl found the same Snitch that they had given her in memory of him, a symbol of her loss, and her inability to love again.

The girl reckoned that now the Snitch was teasing her, bringing her to this place was one thing, but expecting her to welcome it back with open arms was virtually impossible. She pointedly looked away from it, yet it moved towards her again, nudging her nose, and urging her to forgive it. And the young man smiled sadly.

In a surge of anger, she snatched the Snitch from the air, and just as she was about to hurl it back into the air, a rush of wind greeted her again. It was by far the softest blow that she had received.

Straightening herself up again, the girl could have sworn that she heard something, a voice whispering softly to her, yet she couldn't hear it properly. Where was it coming from?

Then she realized that it was coming from within the Snitch, and the girl brought the Snitch closer to her ear and gasped chokingly, for there was a voice coming from within the Snitch whispering in a ever-so-familiar voice:

"I wish you were here."

In thorough shock, she placed her hand over her mouth, nearly slipping the Snitch from between her limp fingers, for her eyes had finally sought the young man standing opposite of her, and he looked so real, too.

He looked exactly the same as she remembered him: the same tall figure, the untidy jet-black hair, and the shimmering emerald eyes that were staring at her through admiration and longing. He still had his round glasses on, just as they had buried him, but there was something peculiar about him. If possible, he looked happier and healthier than she had ever seen him; he bore a genuine smile that seemed slightly forlorn, yet she could hardly contain her joy in seeing him, and she finally understood his intentions.

And for the first time in years, the young woman permitted a smile to grace her appearance, albeit a bit watery. She had been afraid that he had been permanently gone, but now he had proved to her that his journey had still not ended, and she almost chuckled at the thought; he never did let his altruistic nature weaken.

The young woman was reluctant to look away; she feared that if she did then he might disappear forever. As if reading her thoughts, the young man shook his head amusedly, a mischievous smile gracing his lips as he let out a mock-dramatic sigh; his eyes were dancing merrily, almost eliciting a glare from the young woman; it was his fault that she wasn't acting like herself anyway.

Slightly indignant, yet all the while amused, the young woman lifted the Snitch to her lips, reciprocating the young man's previous actions, and whispered the three words that they never had the chance to say to each other. Likewise, she spread out her palm and watched the Snitch flutter to an unknown place.

She knew that those words were entirely frivolous anyway, but she wanted a reason to say it before he left to finally sleep a tranquil slumber.

She watched fascinatingly as he effortlessly caught the Snitch again; she smiled as she caught his expression fusing into one of gratified surprise, and a moment later he grinned back, and it dawned on them that this was it.

The young man folded the hand that was clutching the Snitch, and he didn't even need to voice his intentions, because she knew he would cherish it for both of them.

The young man nodded in understanding, and she returned the gesture. Then, it was time to leave, and she felt guilty for the pain that she had afflicted on the both of them, not merely her, but the young man shook his head again in response, causing her to smile sheepishly.

He allowed a final smile to spread before retreating a few steps backwards; the young woman watched longingly as he waved and saluted, eliciting a laugh and a returned gesture back, and with that, he faded, leaving only the last rays of the dying sun to shine on the green hue of the grass; they were extraordinary similar to his eyes; they were both alive with life.

And it dawned on her that he had never really left. She understood that he wanted her to move on, have a happy life, and return to her family.

But she would wait for him, and she knew that he would too.

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><p>When violet eyes get brighter<p>

And heavy wings grow lighter

I'll taste the sky and feel alive again

And I'll forget the world that I knew

But I swear I won't forget you

Oh, if my voice could reach back to the past

I'd whisper in your ear:

"Oh darling, I wish you were here."

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><p><strong>AN**: Wow, just wow. I thank the awesome Adam Young (Owl City) so much for giving me the inspiration for writing this fanfic. I was hearing the song, Vanilla Twilight, and this entire story flowed into my head; I wrote this at three in the morning, by the way, not to mention I had school the next morning. ;) But I hope y'all like it, and happy Valentine's Day.

Also, try reading it while hearing the song or the instrumental; it's amazing.

Please leave a review and I'll throw in a Snitch in return. ;) Bye!

**PS.** If ya have any questions, leave a review or send me a PM; I don't know if it's a bit confusing to y'all 'cause I think it's perfect, haha (duh, I wrote it).


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